


Altered State

by icandrawamoth



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Altered Mental States, Crying, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Forehead Touching, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, badthingshappenbingo, just because I had to throw Draven in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: Tycho turns his head just enough that he can speak without his words being muffled, each shaky breath now puffing across Wedge's collarbone. “He drugged me. Some sort of–of something to inhibit control of my emotions.”





	Altered State

**Author's Note:**

> For badthingshappenbingo square "mind games."

Wedge doesn't want Tycho to leave the squadron. The Reds are a tight-knit group, the best of friends and brothers in arms, and of course Wedge wants to keep the man he loves as close to him as he can. But he also wants him to be happy, so when Tycho had expressed interest in doing something more, curiosity about positions that needed filling in Intelligence, Wedge had encouraged him.

That's what has him waiting alone now in their room. Tycho had put in an application and after having it approved had had some sort of initial meeting scheduled with General Draven. He'd left for it over an hour ago, and though he doesn't know when his boyfriend will be back, Wedge is waiting, ready to great him with enthusiasm whatever the outcome. Sympathy and hidden relief if it hasn't gone well. Congratulations and hidden loss if it has.

The door opens, and Wedge stands to greet him, but before it's even had a chance to whisk closed again, Tycho has crossed and room and pressed himself close, face hidden in Wedge's neck. Are those tears he feels?

“Hey,” Wedge murmurs, voice laced with concern, as his arms go around his boyfriend. “What is it? What happened?”

“That test was awful,” Tycho whimpers without moving an inch, and yes, he's crying. Wedge's gut twists.

“What did Draven do? Did he hurt you?” Sure everyone has heard whispers of the kinds of things Intelligence agents are subjected to in their training, but most them can't possibly be real, and surely for this most initial of meetings–

Tycho shudders, and Wedge instinctively holds him a little tighter. “Not exactly.”

“Let's sit down, okay?” Wedge gently tugs him over to the bed and sits beside him at the foot, keeping him close as anxiety continues to nibble away at him. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Tycho turns his head just enough that he can speak without his words being muffled, each shaky breath now puffing across Wedge's collarbone. “He drugged me. Some sort of–of something to inhibit control of my emotions.”

That explains how upset he is. In the time he's known him, Wedge has very rarely seen Tycho like this. He's the type to go quiet and tense when he's upset, not show it so obviously. “Why would he do that?” Wedge demands. Hurting a potential recruit like this certainly couldn't help Draven or his program any.

“Then he started asking questions,” Tycho goes on as if he hasn't heard. “Lots of different things. What I did with the Empire. Why I came to the Rebels. He kept pushing about Alderaan, made me tell him all about my family and Nyiestra and where I'd been when it happened and–” He breaks off with a sob.

“An interrogation drill?” Wedge wonders aloud, angry now. “But you don't have any training for that sort of thing!”

Tycho finally pulls away, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I don't know.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I don't know, Wedge. I can't–” He presses the heels of his hands over his eyes. “I can't think straight.”

“It's all right,” Wedge assures, gentling his own upset and laying a comforting hand on Tycho's back. “Should we take you to the medbay?”

Tycho shakes his head jerkily. “No. Draven was monitoring me the whole time to make sure– I'll be fine. Just take some time.” He adds, quieter, “I don't want any more people to see me like this.”

“Okay,” Wedge agrees reluctantly. “What can I do to help, Tycho?”

“I don't know,” Tycho says again. He looks up at Wedge.

Wedge catches his breath at his expression. Tycho's blue eyes are blown wide and glassy, stressed creases at the corners. He's so open and vulnerable – _scared –_ and Wedge can't image what it must be like to have a drug messing with his brain and emotions like this. Bringing a man he's always known to be so strong to this confused, frightened mess.

And then Tycho is crying again, tears starting to stream down his face between one blink and the next, and Wedge pulls him close again, as if the sanctuary of his arms can protect the man he loves even from this. “I'm here,” Wedge murmurs against his hair. “I'm sorry. I wish I could do more.”

Tycho's only response is his quiet sobs, and, at a loss, Wedge runs a hand up and down his back, trying to impart as much comfort as he can into the body shaking helplessly against him. Wedge strokes his hair, hums softly, does everything he can think of to make him feel even a little better, even while he wonders what Tycho is thinking about right now. He said Draven had asked him about Alderaan, and it makes Wedge burn with anger again to know how that must have brought right to the surface the guilt and grief Tycho still feels so keenly. What right does the general have?

“Wedge?” Tycho asks quietly after awhile, and Wedge murmurs acknowledgment. “Can we lay down?”

“Of course, love.” Wedge lets him go to fold back the blanket, then gently guides both of them up the bed, pulling the blanket back over them as he lets Tycho position them with his face tucked into Wedge's chest, one hand clutched in his shirt, and their legs tangled together. Wedge threads his fingers through his boyfriend's hair and holds him close. “Do you think you can sleep?”

“Maybe,” Tycho whispers. “I can try.”

“I think that's a good idea,” Wedge murmurs. “Let it wear off while you're resting.”

Tycho nods slightly then goes still, resting against him. After another moment, he says, “Talk to me, Wedge. Distract me.”

So he was right. Tycho's thoughts are in dark places. Wedge tries not to let his grip on him tighten protectively at the confirmation. “What do you want to hear, sweetheart?”

“Anything. Just...need some white noise. Take me out of my head.”

“Okay.” Wedge reaches for a topic, something light-hearted and positive. Thinks of Tycho held fast in his arms, needing him. Starts speaking almost before he's decided. “Sometimes I think of what we might do when this war is won. When, not if.” He keeps his voice quiet and soothing as he spins out the fantasy. “They wouldn't need us to fight anymore, so we'd retire. I'd take you back to Corellia, show you all the places I knew growing up. Maybe we'd settle down there and get civilian jobs. There are always companies looking for transport pilots.”

He pauses, feeling Tycho blessedly already relaxing against him, and goes on, even softer. “Maybe we'd get married someday, if you want that. Adopt a kid. There's already plenty of war orphans. Two, maybe. I'd want our son or daughter to have a sibling, I think. We'd raise them to value truth and justice just like us, like everyone else, so this sort of war never happens again. We could grow old out in some cabin in the country, sitting in our rockers and remembering the good old days and sleeping in a warm bed together every night.”

 _That's how I want to go out,_ he thinks. Not in some blaze of glory during a battle, but next to the Tycho after a long, full life. Regardless of how unlikely it is, how much the odds are against both of them surviving to the end of this, he has to believe it can happen.

Tycho is asleep – or at least Wedge thinks he is until the hand on his shirt tightens and he hears a soft, “Love you...” that drifts off into even breaths.

Wedge's cheeks heat a little even as he answers in kind. Had Tycho heard and understood all that? All those embarrassing, mundane personal dreams... It's not like they'd talked about any of it. It's not like what they have is set in stone, regardless of how much they care for one other.

But Wedge lets it slip from his mind, concentrating on the man in his arms, finally at peace. That's what matters. And when he wakes, the drugs will have left his system, he'll feel better, and everything will be fine again.

 

Wedge must fall asleep too, because next thing he knows, he's coming awake as the bed shifts. Blinking his eyes open, he sees Tycho sitting up, the blankets falling off him as he presses a hand to his temple, and everything that happened comes back to Wedge.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he sits up as well.

Tycho turns to him, and the smile he gives is only a little strained. “Much better. Head is pounding, though.”

Wedge reaches into the bedside drawer and comes up with a bottle of painkillers. Tycho takes it and shakes a couple of pills into his palm, downing them dry. When Wedge has stashed the bottle away again, he asks, “General Draven really drugged and interrogated you as your first preliminary meeting about possibly transferring to Intelligence? I can't believe it.”

Tycho sighs and runs a hand through messy blond hair. “It makes sense, in a way. I remember what he said now that my brain isn't all scrambled: that you have to have a sort of base-level resistance to that kind of thing. Like a certain amount of mental fortitude.” He lets out a rough little laugh. “I guess I don't have it.”

Wedge frowns. “I think the drugs had something to do with that.”

“Don't think too badly of him, Wedge. You can't sugarcoat these kinds of things. When you came in as a pilot, did they shy away from telling you how likely you were to die within your first few missions or the kinds of physical and mental harm you might be looking at? Because they didn't me.”

“Of course they didn't, but they never drugged me either.”

“Because as pilots our odds of being captured and interrogated are somewhat less than an Intelligence operative who's spending a significant amount of time undercover among the enemy. You have to train for that sort of thing.”

“But-”

“I'm not trained, I know. I think it was also a sort of scare tactic, too. Let people know what they're in for right away and weed out the ones who don't really want it.”

Wedge steels himself. “So, do you? Want it?”

“I didn't think of how I might react to anything like that,” Tycho says honestly. “It never occurred to me that they'd use my own past against me, and maybe that's an indicator of what a terrible agent I'd be.” He makes a face, a little frustrated, a little rueful. “Maybe the fact that that past exists at all is an indicator that this isn't the path for me. Something like that can't exactly be helped.”

“So?” Wedge tries to quash hope.

Tycho grins at him, and it's like the sun come from behind a cloud after a long afternoon of rain. “I'm still a flyboy. You know, I probably would have missed it if I did transfer.”

“And it's not like there aren't other options to consider,” Wedge points out even as his chest warms with relief. “Just because you're a pilot doesn't mean you can't help with other things.”

“And I wouldn't go far from you, regardless,” Tycho says, and Wedge's stomach jolts. Before he can ask what he means, his boyfriend goes on. “I remember the things you said as I was falling asleep. Did you really mean them?”

“I hope that wasn't too weird,” Wedge mutters, his cheeks going warm. “But...yeah. When I'm thinking about my ideal future, that's it.” His voice nearly trails off at the end as he looks away.

Tycho's answering smile is gentle. “And you're wondering if that's what I want, too. Wedge.” Wedge looks up to meet his gaze, and Tycho cups his cheek. “I don't know what the future holds for us, but if you ask me right now, I'm ecstatic at the thought of spending the rest of my days with you. The way you took care of me today, the way you've encouraged me with this whole thing even though you'd rather have me at your side all the time...you don't just let someone like that go.”

Wedge lays his hand over Tycho's, at a loss for words. “I love you,” he manages finally.

Tycho kisses him, gentle and full of feeling, then leans their foreheads together. “If you don't know how I feel about you, you haven't been paying attention, dear heart. I'm with you till the end of the line.”


End file.
